


everyone else and you

by miriya



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Drabbles, Episode Ignis Verse 2, Feelings, Festivals, Fluff, IgNoct, King Noctis, Kisses, M/M, Massage, Tattoos, Vacations, cornyx
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-07-05 13:02:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15864168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miriya/pseuds/miriya
Summary: Various drabble and flashfic prompts as they're finished (or as I remember to post them).  Super soft for now, though that's subject to change (and will be warned for) depending on requests.





	1. a kiss in public; ignoct

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _you and me, we are going to be happy_  
>  until the day our hearts stop
> 
>  
> 
> For the kisses meme: a kiss in public, for aly
> 
> If you want one of your own, hit me up [here](https://celesticidal.tumblr.com/post/177629894635/send-me-a-ship-and-a-number-and-i-will-write-a)!

There’s a light snow falling, on the fifth anniversary of Dawn. Insomnia – the parts of it recovered, rebuilt, and reinhabited, at least – has been awash in artificial light since yesterday’s sunset: a memorial that is as much a nod to the city’s name as it is a celebration of humanity’s defiance in the face of apocalypse.

The gray afternoon sky does nothing to dampen the collective spirit of the crowd gathered in front of the Citadel’s grand plaza. Noctis smiles, watching a group of children who’ve long since tuned out the seemingly endless string of speeches, choosing instead to lean up against the dividers and attempt to catch snowflakes on their tongue. Idly, Noctis considers the merits of joining them, and finds himself inexplicably reminded of his father.

Instead, he huddles down a little further into his tailored wool coat, hands curled into his pockets as he leans into Ignis’s side. His own speech had been a mercifully brief thing, little more than a reaffirmation of his enduring commitment to Eos and wishes for good fortune to every citizen, before yielding the podium to various council members and heads of restoration from throughout the kingdom. Again, his attention strays to the kids down below the risers. Most of them are young enough, he thinks, to have been born after the endless night.

None of this will mean anything to them. Eighty, a hundred years from now, this whole production might be nothing more than a confusing ritual tied to an unthinkable story, words like _scourge_ and _daemons_ just pieces of fairy tales passed down from their parents’ parents. Blessed ignorance – after seeing so many people broken and reshaped by the war and the relentless dark, he can’t quite manage to be sad about that fact.

Ignis stirs, drawing Noctis’s attention back to the present. He turns to catch sight of Ignis’s profile, the sharp, serene angles of his features – Noctis’s own personal point of light in the gloom. There’s a light dusting of snow on his shoulders and in his hair, and Noct can’t help but smile at the sight of it.

“Bet you’re glad you don’t have glasses on,” Noctis murmurs under his breath, and nudges Ignis’s ribs gently with an elbow for good measure.

Ignis snorts, eyes remaining stubbornly fixed forward despite the flicker of amusement. Even when Noctis’s hand slips out from his own coat pocket to worm into the fleece-lined interior of Ignis’s, his own fingers recoiling slightly from the surprising chill in Ignis’s before he twines them together. It’s a little bold of him, really; while neither of them have been particularly secretive about their affections for one another within the Citadel’s walls, they haven’t exactly gone strolling through the city hand in hand, either.

Noctis feels the way Ignis hesitates before relaxing against him once more, standing just a little straighter. A glance upward shows the nervous dart of Ignis’s stare tracking over the crowd, and Noctis hums quietly, leaning in close once more. "No good?“

A quick squeeze of fingers against Noctis’s, holding tight; as clear an answer as Ignis has ever given him. 

Noctis briefly glances at the bank of cameras in front of the podium, and then lets his attention wander out into the crowd. He wonders what they’ll say about any of this in twenty years, once the war and the scourge have been wholly consigned to the past. What else will survive memory, beyond the Dawn? What else will matter? The war is over; more importantly, the mechanisms necessary to wage it are long gone. It seems impossible to believe that after everything they’ve been through, that this generation will have any taste for further destruction. Everything is _potential_ , in a world where the night is no longer a cause for fear.

The future feels wide open, something to be gripped tightly with both hands. Noctis is glad to no longer fear it, either.

A smattering of applause pulls Noctis back into the moment once more, and he smiles as another talking head bows and steps away from the podium. It’s the end of the facts and figures part of the afternoon – a different sort of tradition, left over from the earliest months of Insomnia’s recovery, when Noctis and his entourage were as much muscle as direction in the city’s rebuilding, and the end of each month meant a recap of improvements both within and without the walls, as well as to frankly address current limitations. Sectors and towns recovered and reinhabited, lessened rationing as new sources of food were secured, families reunited and occasionally expanding with new births and adoptions … Noctis had done his best to make each victory and need alike feel personal, to shatter the disconnect between Insomnia and the wider reach of Lucis, as well as to motivate those who would pave the way for Insomnia’s rebirth. For the most part, he still considers it a successful tactic, and the fact that people keep showing up to the addresses means they might as well keep at it.

It’s certainly not his ancestors’ Insomnia, and he’s certainly not their type of King – but Noctis thinks they’re doing all right.

–

There’s a band playing on the stage where the podium had been only an hour ago. The crowd is scattered between a roped-off section meant to serve as a dance floor and the rows of tables laden with a feast prepared by Insomnia’s most notable chefs, a bounty mirrored in every inhabited sector of the city beneath massive television screens broadcasting the performance at the Citadel. No one seems to mind much, the fact that the snow is still falling.

(Noctis caves to that prior impulse and catches snow on his tongue with the kids after all, much to the delight of his waist-high subjects.)

Full and content, Noctis uses the lull in activity to hook his arm beneath Ignis’s, gently steering him away from his worried inspection of the buffet table closest to them. Ignis hesitates only a moment before acquiescing. Noctis can’t quite keep the grin off his face as he leans into Ignis again – there’s something in the atmosphere that’s oddly invigorating, like maybe he’s borrowed a bit of that youthful vitality and is looking for an outlet for all that unspent energy. "Having fun yet, Iggy?”

“It’s been a lovely afternoon,” Ignis says, and Noctis knows that diplomatic tone all too well.

But even that doesn’t manage to dampen his spirit. Instead, Noctis laughs. "So not _quite_.“

"There’s a lot to keep track of. The food, the security–”

“And none of those are your problem today. It’s okay to relax a little.”

Ignis visibly swallows down his immediate response; Noctis watches, fascinated as always by the subtle shifts in Ignis’s expression as he attempts to coax his thoughts in a different direction. Letting go has never been Ignis’s strong suit, and Noctis knows without a shadow of a doubt that he’s here to witness this celebration today because of it. But chances to leave the specifics to someone else are rare and precious, and Noctis is determined to give Ignis the break he deserves.

The current song winds down to a round of applause from the crowd gathered in front of the stage. “Hey,” Noctis says suddenly, startled by the fragment of an idea and unwilling to think to long on it lest he change his mind. His arm drops, catching Ignis’s hand instead – in the moment of surprise that follows, he begins to tug Ignis towards the dance area. "C'mon, Iggy – let’s show these guys how it’s done.“

Ignis huffs a laugh. "You can’t dance your way out of a shopping bag, Noct.”

“Guess that means you’re leading, doesn’t it?”

Ignis allows himself to be pulled along, though he leans in close just before they pass through the parted ropes. "Are you sure about this? People will talk.“

And that’s true; it certainly isn’t the first time Noctis has considered the fact, and it’s been enough to still his hand in plenty of moments before. But this time … he isn’t really sure, himself. Maybe it’s the restless energy jittering just beneath his skin. Maybe it’s years of half-pretending a distance that should have by all rights been swept away years ago. He’s been honest with his people in so many other ways. Why not this?

He glances around as the band launches into a new song, mellow and contemplative. Most of the people surrounding them are too busy paying attention to one another. The few that have noticed Noctis’s presence don’t seem particularly concerned one way or another – save for one of Gladio’s off-duty Crownsguard who gives him a low thumbs-up behind the back of her own dance partner. "Do you mind, Iggy?”

For a few heartbeats, Ignis just looks at him.

And then he smiles as he reaches out, one hand curling into Noctis’s coat, the other shifting their woven fingers into something more suitable. "Nothing would please me more, your Majesty. Shall we?“

Noctis really _can’t_ dance. He doesn’t have the patience for the pattern – too easily distracted to count the steps or keep the beat. Before the first chorus is halfway done, any pretense of form has been abandoned, and Noctis is still laughing as he leans into Ignis’s tall frame and turns his face into the warm line of his throat. He can do shuffling swaying, at least – and besides, Ignis’s arms are a snug, welcome weight around his waist.

"I’m not sure that even qualifies as an attempt,” Ignis murmurs into his ear, but he’s laughing quietly, too, and the wash of warm air against his skin makes Noctis shudder.

“Worked out, didn’t it? Got myself an extra blanket in the process, too.”

“If you make a joke about it being a wet one, Noct, I’m going to throw you headfirst into the nearest fountain.”

It’s a good thing Kings are inherently unable to giggle, otherwise Noctis might be embarrassed by the sound that he doesn’t quite manage to keep contained behind his teeth. "Nah, don’t worry.“ A beat. "Moderately soggy, at worst.”

Noctis doesn’t end up in any fountains, but Ignis isn’t shy about not quite accidentally stepping on his toes – just once, just to let him know who’s in charge. This, Noctis thinks – this is the future he’s been reaching for, the piece of it that he can keep for himself, outside the boundaries of King and kingdom. His home within the walls of his city. Ignis rests his chin on top of Noctis’s head, nosing snowflakes away where they land on his hair, and Noctis feels entirely at peace as they bend and sway against one another, lulled into a contented silence as the music plays on and his – their – people go about their own lives around them.

For these precious few minutes, everything is perfect. Noctis closes his eyes, at peace with the world and his place within it.

“Noct?” Just barely loud enough to be heard over the murmur of the crowd around them and the song, winding down to little more than the sigh of guitars and pulse of muted percussion.

Noctis hums a questioning note, and Ignis bends his head, lips to the cold shell of Noctis’s ear. "I am, in fact, having quite a bit of fun.“

What else can Noctis do but laugh? That, and tilt his head until he can slant his mouth over Ignis’s, finally giving in to the urge that’s been scratching at the back of his skull for hours. He means for it to be a quick thing, a promise to be explored at leisure sometime later in the day, but Ignis is so soft and welcoming that it isn’t until his head feels light from need of breath and the band has moved on to a livelier song that Noctis finds it in himself to draw back, grinning. 

"Me, too,” Noctis whispers, and presses another kiss to Ignis’s cheek for good measure. "Me, too.“


	2. a kiss in danger; ignoct

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _i love the way you say it  
>  like you've just been caught_
> 
> For miyuki4s on tumblr, for the kiss meme: a kiss in danger.

“You know, this was always a distinct possibility,” Ignis says mildly.

Noctis barks a quiet laugh, but he’s already stretching out his arm, consigning his fishing pole to the armiger with a flourish of his wrist and a brilliant scatter of blue sparks. The weight of the blade that replaces it is far heavier, and he grunts as he steadies himself, curling his fingers tightly around the wrapped grip. 

Up until now, it’s been a picturesque vacation from their busy life at the Citadel: a whole week to themselves in Caem, nothing but the two of them, a generous supply of wine and fancy cheese and the stunning views from the top of the lighthouse. _Perfection_. "You’re gonna blame me for this one, aren’t you.“

It’s not even a question.

"You _did_ insist on going fishing, Noct.”

“You wanted to make fish for dinner!”

That, at least, seems to give Ignis a moment’s pause as he reaches into the void for his own lance. "Fish, yes. Not some lobster with delusions of godhood.“ Ignis glances the thing over with a disdainful sniff. "And here we are, neither of us with a single curative in sight.”

The karlabos doesn’t seem particularly offended by the remark – at least not more offended than it is with interlopers in its territory. Noctis keeps an eye on the beast as he scrambles up the rest of the bank, taking up a defensive stance next to Ignis. He glances over, winking at his advisor, laughing as Ignis rolls his eyes dramatically. "Guess that means we’re not allowed to get hurt, doesn’t it?“

"A trivial matter for the King of Light, one should hope.” Despite the sharpness of his words, there’s an undercurrent of fondness Ignis doesn’t bother to mask.

He’s enjoying being sour about the situation, Noctis realizes, and responds with a grin that’s all teeth. Despite the threatening arch of a tail that’s as wide as the span of their linked arms, Noctis leans in close to Ignis. "Looks like it's time to work off that breakfast, Iggy.“

"Noct.”

“You _sure_ you wouldn’t rather have lobster for dinner?”

“Noct–”

It’s been a long time since Noctis has felt the rush of adrenaline that precedes a fight. His whole body feels alive with it, restless and thrumming, and he gives into the sensation, tossing up a shield with one hand even as he reaches for a fistful of Ignis’s shirt with the other, pulling him in to crush their mouths together as a blast of water crashes over the iridescent wall of magic. 

Ignis whimpers – legitimately _whimpers_ against his lips, staggering on momentarily unsteady legs as Noctis presses up against him, demanding and energized. Noctis drinks it down, feeling invincible in the moment. (Maybe, he thinks just briefly, they should do this more often.)

“Good luck, Iggy,” Noctis murmurs as he draws back, and he’s pleased, too, to see the attractive flush spreading across Ignis’s face, threatening to slip down below his open collar – his favorite kind of magic at work. In retrospect, maybe this will also be part of his idea of a perfect vacation, though he wisely decides he’ll keep that part to himself.

“Don’t be reckless,” Ignis breathes, but he’s finally smiling, so Noctis is pretty sure they’ve already won.

“You’ve got my back,” is all Noctis says as he pulls away, arm drawing back to launch his sword toward the karlabos, gone half a heartbeat later in a shower of sparks.


	3. a kiss to distract; ignoct

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For stuckyownsme on tumblr! Kiss meme fill, for a kiss to distract. This is a bit goofier than I was originally going for, but shenanigans ensue when you put the chocobros in too close proximity to one another in my head, no matter what age they are.

"No no no no no no, not _yet_ ," Prompto hisses from behind the cracked door. "Didn't you say the Altissians were keeping him until noon? Because I swear I heard you--"

"It seems they were faster than you are, presently," Ignis murmurs. "Gladio informs me you've got roughly three minutes. Make them count, Prompto." The noise that escapes Prompto's mouth sounds suspiciously close to a whining puppy, but Ignis wisely chooses to keep the thought to himself. "Is there anything I can do to assist you?"

"Yes! No -- yes? Just … keep him busy, okay?" 

Ignis stares at the door for a long, long moment, then breathes a sigh as he heads for the entrance to the royal apartments to plot an intercept course. Honestly. _Honestly_ \-- Ignis can't quite bring himself to finish an incredibly tempting thought regarding individuals and their areas of expertise. The effort is worth something, especially when it comes to Noct.

(Besides, if _his_ flavor of expertise can be distilled into one role, he supposes extracting others from the holes they've dug themselves is certainly apt enough.)

When the door finally swings open, Ignis has arranged himself in a dignified sprawl on the plush black sofa like he's been there for hours, swiping through the day's news like he doesn't keep tabs every half hour as it is: Old Lestallum opens the largest gallery of folk art in Lucis, Alstor breaks ground on a new clinic in the last King's name. Precious artifacts belonging to the eleventh oracle thought lost in the razing of Insomnia, found miraculously preserved beneath the crumpled ruins of a parking garage.

Noct's steps are steady against the tile, the slightly off-beat tempo achingly familiar in a way that Ignis feels in his chest like a second heartbeat. Hesitating next to him, and Ignis glances at the time just before he lifts his head to offer Noct a smile. "Welcome back, your Majesty."

"Next time I'm _making_ you go with me, Iggy," Noct grumbles, but the corner of his mouth is quirked in the beginnings of a rueful little grin, and he's reaching out to ruffle Ignis's hair, careful not to muss the shape beyond repair.

"Next time," Ignis says. "I'm sure Gladio did just fine; I know they like him."

Noct laughs. "He could have set the room on fire and the ambassador would still be making eyes at him. I still don't know if that invitation to ride her private gondola next time he's in Accordo was legit or, like, a sex thing? Because it really sounded like a sex thing." A beat, and then Noct leans back on his heels, eyes traveling toward the closed kitchen door. "What's for lunch? I'm starving."

Ignis feels Noct pull away and shift toward the kitchen a second before his body begins to move -- instinctively, he reaches up to curl his fingers around Noct's wrist, gently guiding it down to his mouth to lay a kiss over his pulse point. Perhaps it's not much of a distraction in terms of complexity, but it's simple and honest.

And, of course, it's terribly effective. Noct's breath catches in his throat, and Ignis's lips brush the side of Noct's palm, then his knuckles. Noct braces his other hand on the back of the sofa as he bends down and Ignis lets Noct kiss him properly, catching the faint taste of sparkling wine on Noct's tongue when he deepens the kiss, pressing inside with all the intrinsic impatience of a young king denied. The edge of the cushion dips beneath Noct's weight when he balances himself on his knee at the edge of the sofa, and Ignis comes to the realization that he's the one in danger of distraction, right now. (It's not that he's incapable of denying Noct what he wants -- it's just that, especially in times like these, he'd really rather not.)

 

His phone, dropped and subsequently forgotten only moments ago vibrates against the buckle of his belt. Noct's arm twitches in Ignis's grip as if to reach for it, but Ignis gets there first. Prompto, it seems, has been granted the time he needs.

"Tell 'em to go away," Noct mutters, still deliciously close.

Ignis suppresses a sigh, reconsidering the wisdom of this whole endeavor. "I thought you said you were famished," he murmurs, trying not to inject any undue innuendo into the phrase and watching Noct shiver with it regardless, 

"Yes, but," and Noct's voice trips into a half-grumble.

"Lunch," Ignis promises. "And then dessert, yes?"

It's extraordinarily difficult not to reach for Noct as he pushes himself back up to his feet, but Ignis manages. "The lunch menu wasn't to your liking, I take it?"

"Nothing but tiny little cucumber and tomato sandwiches and some weird salad, Iggy. _Gross_." Noct reaches out to tug Ignis upright as well, then pulls him in the direction of the kitchen. Ignis bites his tongue in order to avoid a pointed comment about his king and his ill-advised _continued_ aversion to vegetables while Noct shoulders open the door; while it is an unexpected situation, perhaps he can whip up something while they--

" _Surprise_!" A loud pop, a scattering of tiny streamers and the scent of gunpowder in the air, and Ignis has to reach out to snatch Noct's wrist again, this time to prevent him from accessing the armiger. Prompto holds the remains of a pair of little confetti pistols in his hands as he fixes Noct with a wild grin. "Happy -- uh, early birthday!"

Noct blinks at him, then breaks out into a startled, embarrassed laugh, the one he never quite managed to grow out of. "It's a week and a half away, dude."

"We wanted to be _really_ sure we got you first," Prompto says, then steps aside and gestures to a cake the size and shape of a tide grouper laid out on the countertop, complete with a fist-sized googly eye and frosted cookie scales, as well as an action figure painted to look vaguely like Noctis perched on top of it. It's massive. It's … absolutely absurd.

Judging by the look on Noct's face, he loves it.

"Hey, Iggy -- thanks for the save. I about had a heart attack when Gladio texted you!" Prompto gives him a thumbs-up, which Ignis deflects with a shrug. Noct looks at them both, then turns a squint on Ignis. 

"So you were out there, just--"

“Taking advantage of an already favorable situation, yes,” and Ignis soothes the hint of mock indignation from Noct’s face with a chaste kiss laid against his cheek, patting him gently on the butt as he sweeps and past toward the fridge. “You did a lovely job, Prompto – well done.”

"My advisor's gone rogue," Noctis says plaintively.

Which is exactly the moment Gladio shoulders his way into the apartment in a cloud of chocobo and cactuar-shaped balloons, peering over a heavy pile of wrapped gifts, a six-pack of Galahdian ale dangling from one of his fingers and a life-sized cardboard statue of Cor Leonis tucked delicately under his arm. "Your advisor?" Prompto asks, feigning wide-eyed innocence as he points over Noct's shoulder. "Wait until you see your _shield_."


	4. ink and fur; cornyx

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tiny cornyx moment.

“A lion doesn’t suit you,” Nyx says, fingers tracing the outline of the tattoo on the back of Cor’s leg. He’s seen it before, but hasn’t yet had the opportunity to really  _look_  until now.  
  
Cor shrugs, the gesture muted by the fact that he’s lying on his stomach on Nyx’s bed, arms crossed beneath his cheek, chin tucked up against his shoulder as he watches Nyx. "Take it up with the family.“  
  
Nyx hums, letting the pad of his thumb rest on an inked fang. The lion is stylized, geometricized, mouth wide open mid-roar – there’s a talented hand behind it, even if it doesn’t quite sit right in Nyx’s mind. Cor has never once mentioned anything about his own family before, and Nyx will be surprised if he does again. He knows enough, about war and loss and the way people reshape themselves in the midst of both to cope, to fill in at least some of those blanks.  
  
He knows, too, that he’ll never ask for elaboration.  
  
Nyx bends down, presses his lips to the lion’s nose and smiles against skin. Then higher, to the soft, vulnerable skin behind Cor’s knee, nipping the tendon just hard enough to feel it tighten between his teeth. He resettles moments later, covering Cor’s body with his own despite the half-hearted complaint about the heat. Cor’s ear proves a tempting target, and he leans in, lips brushing the shell of it, tempted to bite. "You’re a wolf, Marshal.”  
  
“A wolf, huh?” Cor’s voice is muffled, but amused.  
  
“A wolf.” Nyx gives into the temptation, because he has no real reason to resist, and because there’s something deeply satisfying in Cor’s quiet hiss as his body goes tense beneath him. "We know our kind.“


	5. like a little tree reaches; cornyx

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the unbelievably cute pipdepop over on tumblr: cornyx, and the prompt **“Do you…well…I mean…I could give you a massage?”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I know I'm no miracle but darling   
> like a little tree reaches up to the sun,   
> would you reach for the warmth inside of me?   
> Could you thrive on my love?  
>  \- Lovers

"You're in pain." Six months into this — this thing they've become, six months of lingering looks in the Citadel's halls that Cor chooses to recognize, six months of stumbling over the surge of gratitude that comes when their schedules align and they can steal a few hours for themselves to be spent in little corner cafes and the grungy comfort of Nyx's cramped, crumbling apartment. Six months in, and Cor is finally allowing himself to read Nyx's body without instinctively attempting to smother the urge on principle.

Nyx pauses on his way back from the kitchenette, beer bottle dangling carelessly from his fingertips, a rueful edge to the smile he turns on Cor. It still manages to light up his face in ways Cor can hardly fathom. "Training day — the captain wanted a piece of me."

"Looks like he got one," Cor says.

"Just a little one." Nyx leans into a stretch, and Cor's attention follows the long curve of his spine, keen to suss out any sign of potential injury. From his vantage, it seems that Nyx is favoring his right side, the motion of his shoulder unnaturally stiff. A moment later, Cor realizes that he's irritated by the idea of it — on Nyx's behalf, of course.

(There are many such things he's coming to learn about himself, that surprise him as often as they don't. As foolish as it is to feel protective of a soldier — well. Here he is, displeased with his own animal brain for the increasingly unpleasant thoughts he's broadcasting in Titus Drautos' direction.)

"Bruises?" He keeps his voice neutral, at least. It's not that he's concerned. He's just. Displeased.

The look Nyx gives him shifts in tone, just enough of a warning for Cor to brace himself for some irreverent gesture — a joke, maybe. Instead, Nyx sets the bottle aside and then tugs his shirt up and over his head, laying it over the back of a chair before he turns to offer Cor his back. He grins as he glances over his shoulder. "Dunno — you tell me."

Cor snorts, amused and terribly, terribly fond; hard to blame Nyx for the not-quite traps Cor walks into, wide-eyed. And anyway, it costs him nothing to go along with it, and it's not as if he doesn't appreciate the sight of Nyx's body, half-bared and presented for his inspection. He takes his time, rising from his seat and crossing the nominal distance between them, letting his attention linger on the shadows nestled at the small of Nyx's back, the thin, simple lines of the tattoos roughly bisecting the broadest part of his shoulders.

Nyx shivers at the first brush of fingers against his skin, eyes downcast and half-hidden by the long sweep of his eyelashes — almost demure, save for the fact that Cor knows better by now. A bead of water escapes the fall of damp hair clinging to the back of Nyx's neck, and Cor halts its descent with the tip of his finger.

It feels very quiet in here, a silence broken only by the whir of the old air conditioner unit and the sound of their breaths, close but not mingling. Not yet.

Cor's touch strays upwards and sideways, until his palm rests over the sharp wing of a shoulder blade. "Here?"

Nyx's answering hum is answer enough, despite the way he leans into Cor's hand, affectionate as any housecat and seemingly just as content with the attention. And a thought strikes Cor then — a strange desire. One that, upon reflection, doesn't seem quite out of place. "Do you —"

He hesitates, feeling the words collide with one other and stick in the back of his throat.

"Hm?"

A steadying breath, as Cor attempts to crush down his own sudden uncertainty. "I just thought. I might —" and Cor nearly barks a laugh at his own absurdity. "I could give you a massage."

It's incredible, really, the way his own mind can betray him at the oddest moments. By now, Cor is no stranger to Nyx's body; he's taken great care in learning its secrets, the scent and taste and texture of his skin — and yet it's this of all things that feels almost unbearably intimate. "...if you'd like, that is." Cor murmurs, almost apologetic.

Judging by the way Nyx smiles, Cor thinks he would, and finds himself relieved by the prospect. 

"Really?"

Cor shrugs. "I thought it might help."

"Yeah. Yeah — of course, yeah." Nyx turns to face Cor, catching his hands as he attempts to withdraw, grinning openly as he draws one of them up to lay a kiss against the inside of Cor's wrist. "Like I'm gonna say no to anything that involves your hands on me. Just didn't think you were the type."

"I'm … not, really," Cor says because it's true, and lets himself be distracted for a moment by the precise tilt of Nyx's lips, the way the corners of his eyes crinkle when Cor's hand turns to mold itself along the prickly line of Nyx's jaw. "I don't claim to know what I'm doing." In any of this, he doesn't say. Better to be honest than inadequate. It's been a long time since he's had need for the thought at all.

It doesn't matter, though. And really, Cor had suspected as much, but the little thrill of satisfaction that comes from being right strikes him all the same, up until the moment Nyx leans in to kiss him and in doing so threatens to derail the entire plan. (He's very good at that — effortlessly persuasive, a fact that's contributed to a shocking number of instances where Cor's well-intended meal preparations have been thrown out the proverbial window in favor of hurried showers and colt-legged jaunts to nearby noodle joints, leaving Cor to nurse lingering aches of a different kind entirely.)

But not this time. Cor supposes it's rare enough that he's the one initiating contact, intriguing enough that Nyx doesn't fuss when he's gently directed into place, straddling the shabby wooden chair in front of his desk, his head tucked into the crook of his arm as Cor takes his time pushing his hair aside to rest his hands on the broad, sturdy slope of his shoulders. In moments like this, it's almost easy to understand what drives Nyx's habit of thoughtless little gestures of affection at every given opportunity.

Cor breathes a snort of amusement as he bends down to brush lips against the curve of Nyx's neck, pleased by the little shiver that follows. "You'll tell me," he murmurs, "if I'm making it worse."

"I'll tell you what you're making worse," Nyx grumbles into his forearm, but Cor can hear the laughter in his voice and assumes that means it's all right.

"You'll do more than tell me that much, I'm sure," Cor says. He's not sure the groan that rumbles up through Nyx's chest after is a product of his hands kneading into tight muscle or a a response to his observation; either way, he chooses to take it for encouragement. "Isn't that right?"

"Sounds like you've got me figured out," Nyx says, flattening himself briefly against the back of the chair before arching up into Cor's hands — more active a participant than Cor thinks this is supposed to go, but he doesn't mind the feedback. "What can I say? I'm a simple man."

"No," Cor says quickly. Nyx Ulric is many things, but simple does not number among them. Not by a long shot.

"You just like things complicated, Cor," Nyx says.

It's satisfying, Cor concludes, to feel the knots of muscle ease beneath the circling of his thumbs — even more so, to hear the purring groan of relief that accompanies their banishment. "If you were simple, you wouldn't spend so much time surprising me."

Nyx laughs again, softer this time. "Maybe you're just easily surprised."

"I'm certain the Nifs would disagree."

"Yes, well." Nyx turns his head briefly, glancing up at Cor from behind the curve of his shoulder before burying his face in his arm again. "That's war. Love is an entirely different beast, y'know."

It sounds so simple when Nyx says it, yes, but Cor is surprised all over again by how easily, how unselfconsciously the words come to Nyx — how something soft and warm curls in his own chest in response. No fear of rejection, of coming off too vulnerable, and Cor wonders: is it trust in himself, or trust in Cor? Is it both? Does it even matter?

Love, is it?

Eventually, Cor smiles, reaching up to ruffle Nyx's hair before he returns his attention to hunting down new knots. How like Nyx, to force him to confront feelings he'd otherwise be content to just skirt around with nothing more than a tossed-off remark. "I suppose you're right," he says — and if he's surprised this time, it's only by his own certainty.


End file.
